


In Nothingness We Trust

by Sissadora



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-01-23 07:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18544936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sissadora/pseuds/Sissadora
Summary: Mordecai Estemos is a fallen aasimar, and a cleric of death.He is definitely not a good person.Haunted by his past, he sets out on a new journey - not to save himself, but to doom himself for good. Who will he meet on the way?((Some chapters will be very short, others longer. The content is both from during gametime, as well as outside of it.))





	1. Chapter 1

Mordecai huffed and adjusted his collar, pale fingers deftly wrapping a scarf around his shoulders.

“You should not be lecturing me, Argal. I know very well what I am doing.”

A final tuck and pull, and satisfied in the form he made in the mirror, Mordecai pulled his hood up. Back from the somewhat dusty, silver-edged mirror, stared his own pale, gaunt visage. Coppery hair framed a narrow face, and he was somewhat vainly proud of the meticulous small braid he’d worked his beard into. Deep-set eyes shone in the dim light of the small room the aasimar called his quarters. Mordecai turned away from the mirror and faced his mentor. 

The shorter, more obviously human man bristled. “As long as you’re within the jurisdiction of this temple, you’re-”

“Your lesser. Yes. You have made this abundantly clear.”

Argal’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Nev-kharn Argal,” Mordecai reluctantly added and lowered his eyes. The honorific almost made him gag as he pushed it through his teeth.

Temporarily satisfied, Argal nodded and folded his hands out of his voluminous sleeves. “Be as it may, here are the details for your upcoming assignment.” 

Mordecai extended his hand and snatched the scroll. Without a word, he broke open the seal and began scanning the letter feverishly, eyes flicking back and forth.

The mission itself was of little importance - contract fulfilment to a lesser ally of their organization, but who had gone missing in strange circumstances. What was of most importance to him was the location. 

He would finally get his chance without pulling the leash too far. A smirk rose to the surface, which he quickly concealed. A plan was starting to form. Pieces were falling into place, and with what he’d made from another mission, he could finally buy a vial of the poison he’d been wanting to get his hands on for a very special someone.

Argal made an impatient noise. He had refolded his arms and was gently tapping his foot against the stone floor. 

Mordecai resisted the urge to sigh, and simply looked up with a nod. “Yes. I believe I might need to purchase something for the road, but after that I will be on my way.”

His mentor flashed a wry smile. “Mind you, that you will be joined by two others on this mission. Handle the fulfilment as you wish.”

“Of course,” the aasimar murmured and bowed, if a fraction less deep than was expected in this situation. Before his teacher could protest, Mordecai pushed past him, and grabbed his walking cane as he walked through the doorway to the hallway beyond.


	2. Chapter 2

Mordecai tilted his hood back, giving Ramus a sideward glance as he did. “Happy?”

The wizard stared, a twinkling smile half-hidden underneath his bushy mustache.

“Oh, but you should never cover that beautiful hair of yours!”

_So, he was one of those people._

_Fawning, oohing, aahing._

_Focusing on the only thing that Mordecai’s failing health hadn’t taken. Like a moth to a flame._

The roiling mass of annoyance in Mordecai’s chest squeezed into a tiny, glowing spark of rage. A half-buried memory of a tall man leaning over his sickbed to stroke his coppery hair came to mind, unbidden. Mordecai pushed the memory from his mind and forced the scalding pinpoint of anger to cool down with deep, slow, controlled breaths.

_This_ he could use to his advantage.

The aasimar turned back to his meat stew, ignoring the adoring looks the older man was giving him. Neda, sitting on Mordecai’s right, gave the two a glance in between fishing a piece of meat from the stew and handing it to Uru - her wolf pup. The ranger seemed content to be focusing on that, at least.


	3. Chapter 3

The inherent power of his heritage was surging through his veins as he stepped forward.

Mordecai knew he was dancing on the edge of a very sharp dagger - but it was the strongest he’d felt all day.

He stood, firm-stanced, shoulders pushed back. A phantom wind caught his hood and sent it backwards, tugging his hair free from its bonds and whirling around his head in a coppery halo in the dim light flickering at the tip of Ramus’ staff.

It was as if pure, molten energy was flowing through his limbs and strengthening him. He felt the telltale goosebumps across his back as the wings - skeletal, ominous, incorporeal - materialized and stretched out. His vision blurred momentarily. Mordecai blinked twice and saw the world through a different lens. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the strong smell of old blood in the air, and grinned widely.

How could he stand still when he felt like his mortal form couldn’t contain the burst of magic?

He began to advance on the ghastly woman - a hag, he knew - standing near the pit, some 15 feet ahead. As he did, he lifted his walking cane to elbow height, parallel to the ground, and his hidden rapier slid free with a hiss. 

Before the hag could react, he’d slashed at her, sending a pulse of necrotic energy down his blade. 

She shrieked at the cut biting deep into her arm. The sound echoed in the chamber. 

He barely heard the noise over the deafening roar of his own heartbeat. 

… 

The hag disappeared into the floor, leaving not even a mark behind. The aasimar’s vision darkened and blurred. Mordecai cursed, and that curse came out as a wordless gasp.

As suddenly as the power had come, it left his frail body. The aftershock sent the thin cleric to the ground. His knees struck the ground and he hissed, but the effort of the noise sent him into a coughing fit. It was as if his throat was swollen shut, raw from the expended spells. His fingers felt in turn cold and hot. His left hand spasmed. Mordecai continued struggling for a minute, gathering his strength when the coughs finally subsided.

He tasted metal on his tongue. 

Every last drop of the power he’d drunk so deeply from, gone in an instant. It left the aasimar deeply frustrated and angry, though that anger faded out as fast as old ashes. Fatigue began to set in.

As a younger man he’d tried to prolong the burst of energy as long as possible, but all he had gotten for his trouble was collapsing onto his face in the most undignified manner, and a broken nose besides.

Mordecai spat the blood out and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He slowly stood up, sheathed his rapier and steadied himself. He drew another wheezing breath and turned to face Neda and Ramus, who were giving him uneasy looks. With a handwave he dismissed their worries and nodded towards the pit in the middle of the room. 

“I.. believe… we should … get…. Willard’s remains… out of here,” he forced the words out, trying to pretend like the fatigue was something he could deal with.

Ramus’ eyes flicked to the pit and then back to the cleric for a moment. 

“I’ll be fine,” Mordecai insisted, suppressing another cough. The effort of him made his vision blur and twist, and he leaned heavily on his cane. The aasimar simply prayed to his deity he wouldn’t collapse until he was somewhere decidedly  _ not here _ .

Finally, the bushy-bearded wizard nodded and waded into the pit without hesitation, easily lifting what remained of the bard out of the pit.

Even with his bleary eyes, there was something about what happened next that caught Mordecai’s attention. As Ramus stepped out of the pit, drops of blood began first dripping towards the ground - then the drops disappeared, as if fading into the older man’s red robes.

That made Mordecai very curious indeed. He had previously attempted to detect magic of any kind and had seen none besides the wizard’s spellbook. 

_ What was this? _

He made a mental note to look into this man’s background - there were too many odd peculiarities, his incessant flirting aside. There was the cheerful, youthful spring to his step - despite him claiming that he was in his 70’s - and he was seemingly a human, as he had not been able to see in the dark.

_ There was something … odd about this man.  _

Mordecai placidly followed the group back to the inn, carefully arranging the facts in his head and observing Ramus discreetly as he walked. He would have to double check the uncertainties next time around. Maybe the man only claimed to not have been able to see in the dark? He was very much human-looking, no matter how you looked at him. A jolly old man with an obsession with the color red, but… 

Filing the thoughts away, Mordecai was resolved to look deeper into this matter.

At least he knew he had something Ramus wanted. Maybe this old wizard could be of use to the aasimar, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Mordecai hissed at another spiking headache at the back of his skull. The lack of sleep was slowly eroding away at his fragile health.

He had exhausted all his resources. Fellow clerics shrugged their shoulders and attributed his nightmares and quickly dwindling energy to his encounter with the ghastly hag. Any and all attempts to scry on the creature had failed, however - and to make matters worse, Mordecai seemed to feel worse every day.

With some effort, he pulled himself upright in his bed, leaned his back against the blissfully cool stone wall and folded his legs. Forcing himself to breathe in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, he considered what he still had left to do. A thought bubbled up. 

Maybe a certain venerable wizard would know something about finding the hag. At least, it wouldn’t hurt to ask for his help. Luckily Mordecai didn’t need to send a letter or even get out of his bed for this.

Mordecai placed his palms on his knees and conjured a mental image of Ramus the Red in his head. The older wizard, resplendent in his flowing, deep crimson robes and a smile half-hidden in his well-groomed white beard.

How would he phrase this? He would not go into detail about what was happening but he doubted that he needed to, either - Ramus would come running if he played his cards right. Appealing to his sense of superiority would certainly make it all the more enticing to pull the wizard from his work. A touch of humility and a touch of mystery, then.

As Mordecai exhaled again, slowly, he closed his eyes and sent his thoughts out and enacted the magic with a gesture.

_ Hope this sending finds you well, Ramus. I have a problem: the hag seems to have left me with a nasty parting gift. I need to find her but can't. Can you help me? _

He didn’t even have to pretend to be exhausted to add an extra punch to the message - he was. Weeks of little sleep had left him groggy and unable to focus for longer periods. He knew that wherever Ramus was right now, he heard his words, complete with his half-slurred voice, in his mind. An oddly intimate gesture, Mordecai mused to himself as he patiently waited for a response.

_ Couldn't stay away, could you? I'd be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about you, Mordecai. Send me the location. I'll help you with this problem.  _

Mordecai’s eyebrows arched. The wizard hadn’t promptly forgotten about him as soon as he was out of sight? He sounded amused, to boot. Well, then...

This made it all the simpler.

Another sharp pain dug itself into Mordecai’s neck and he gasped. He grit his teeth and forced himself to sit still instead of curling up in a ball on his bed. Every breath he forced another muscle to relax until the pain faded.

_ What was that inn’s name?  _ Mordecai struggled to organize his thoughts. It felt like he should start where that hag had been, since scrying hadn’t worked and he very well couldn’t send other people to do this job for him. As loathe as he was to even think of getting out of this bed, a plan began to form. Luckily, he could travel light, even if time wasn’t on his side.

He cast the spell a second time, and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead from the exertion.

_ Seems like we should start where we first met the hag. Meet me at the Dancing Magpie at your earliest convenience. I will be waiting. _

It didn’t take long for Ramus to answer this. 

_ I'll be there as fast as time allows it. I hope you are well. You had me worried during our last encounter. See you soon. _

Something about the way Ramus’ flirting made way for genuine worry was soothing. Mordecai’s headache slowly receded as he sat there in silence, holding his head gingerly against the stone wall. Someone walked in the hallway outside of his door, shoes slapping against stone as they passed by. 

Mordecai opened his eyes and regarded his walking cane, propped up against the side of his bed. 

He better get packing.


	5. Chapter 5

Several hours into the ride towards the witch’s house, the group decided to take a little break. Mordecai dismounted his black mare and loosely tied the reins in the shade under several large trees. He then limped under a different tree and slunk down, grateful for the chance to sit and close his eyes for a moment. 

A minute into his reverie he heard a rustle and a thunk from somewhere behind the tree.

“How are you doing, Mordecai?” Ramus’ voice called out. 

Mordecai bit back a sigh. What would he have given for a 5-minute nap at this point?  “I’m quite fine.”

“You don’t really seem that way.”

“I’m sure once the hag is dead I’ll have a chance to recover.”

Ramus lapsed into silence momentarily. To Mordecai this felt like the wizard was on an exploratory trip and wasn’t about to give up.

“Did it hurt?”

The odd, dull note in Ramus’ voice alerted Mordecai that this question had been in the wizard’s mind for some time. The aasimar considered not answering for a second, but decided to humor him.

“What did, Ramus?”

“When your wings were ripped off.”

Mordecai clicked his tongue. So that was what this was about. His celestial heritage, polluted by his deeds as the years rolled on, had indeed left a visible mark as a sign of his fall from grace. He only dipped into the power when necessary, and did not expect - or even want! - other people to understand what he had gone through. For him, the choice had been clear as day. 

He had no regrets, and anyone feeling pity for him was a fool to the core. 

“You are a fallen aasimar, are you not?” Ramus prompted, almost too quietly for his usual style. 

“Yes. It’s not really a big secret,” Mordecai replied. He ran his fingers over the handle of his walking cane, letting his thumb circle the metallic emblem embedded there. His skin knew every groove on this emblem, and he could feel the metal warming up to his touch slightly. 

“It’s not? I’m .. quite decent at keeping secrets.”

Of course he was. This man was walking around with secrets of his own. Mordecai could practically see him carrying around his secrets like burdens on his age-bent back, hidden behind a mask Ramus so loved to wear. Same went for the quiet Neda and her reserved demeanor. 

Who didn’t have secrets, in this day and age? 

Almost unwillingly, Mordecai’s thoughts veered and a memory of Sophie’s smiling face came up - radiant, energetic and full of life. Angrily, Mordecai banished the face from his mind. He gripped his walking cane until his knuckles turned white. It’s as if his leather armor was shrinking down and pressing on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him and making his bones ache despite the years between him and her, now.

“Oh, I bet you are,” he finally said and refused to allow his pain to show.


	6. Chapter 6

Hunched and sitting on the edge of the bed as Mordecai was, he was not in the slightest surprised as the robed form of Ramus headed in his direction.

“You should get some sleep,” the older man chided quietly, as to not wake up the rest of their companions as he stopped in front of Mordecai. He stood mostly solidly, now - the effects of the tobacco the man had been smoking seemed to be wearing off. Good riddance; Mordecai was done guiding the judgement-impaired for the rest of his life.

“I’ll be quite fine, thank you. I’m sure to get better sleep when the hag is dead.”

Mordecai smiled wryly. With a gesture, he motioned Ramus to get back to sleep. Instead, Ramus bent over, coming closer to eye level with him. There was a friendly expression of worry all over his face.

With a soft smile, Ramus tilted his head. “ _Please, I insist._ ”

Mordecai could see his eyes begin to change. The irises darkened. The sclera shifted from white to dark grey to black. Darkness slithered down Ramus’s face in streaks, almost like ink running over his cheeks. Something in the back of Mordecai’s mind yelped in alarm as the spell  - a potent charm - tried to take hold.

Struggling to remain in command of his own mind, Mordecai focused all he could on the anger bubbling underneath. He swallowed an angry growl and grabbed for his walking cane from where it was propped up against the bed within arm’s reach.

He broke the spell and watched Ramus’ face go from friendly to confused to shocked.

A huge part of Mordecai wanted to ram this wizard into the wall and slit his throat. He stood up and nudged at the handle of the walking cane with his thumb, unsheathing the rapier for a finger’s width as he seethed. For a moment nothing but rage ran through his veins. He could let his power loose, run him through and move on from this farce of feigned friendship.

_**How dare he?** _

Let this impudent old man drown in his own blood and damned be the consequences. Wizards could never be trusted. He had known this, but had allowed his guard down in a moment of weakness. After all he'd seen and been through, he'd allowed one close enough to try to _charm him_.

More rational part of Mordecai tugged at his thoughts. He was a guest in Tamsin’s house. There were people who might interfere. A battle between the two might tear this place, and all of its various protections, down and turn it into total carnage. This would most likely take Tamsin’s hospitality away for good, and by the gods, he needed that charm to destroy the hag and have the chance of surviving a little longer himself.

He let the rapier slide back into the shaft of the cane with a soft hiss. He shifted his grip and leaned on the cane, feeling the symbol embedded there pressing into his palm. The texture of the edges against his skin brought him back from the brink of murder.

After inhaling a deep, quaking breath, Mordecai slammed his walking cane’s tip into the floor. “If you EVER try to do that again, I will kill you.”

He pushed past the wizard and out of the room, leaving Ramus sputtering excuses in his wake.


	7. Mind's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity had always been a weakness of Mordecai’s. He admitted this to himself. Something about needing to understand those around him was a driving force, always had been. It had come in handy in serving his clients for years, and there was a certain thrill to understanding peoples’ deepest, unvoiced desires - and then promptly using them for a higher gain.

As he expected, an hour after the group had withdrawn into their respective rooms, a knock sounded on his door.

Mordecai had been lounging on his bed - not the most comfortable he’d ever laid on, but certainly not the worst. He’d been staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, untangling the threads of information in his mind and trying to form the total picture of the people he was traveling with. Thanks to the beer and the cheerful dance and song, there’d been plenty of chatter to go around. He’d found comfort in the act of dancing like he had years ago, if just for a little while this time.

Yet, when Ramus had confronted him about his wings, he had frozen up entirely. He’d been unwilling to speak to the man. Had Mordecai been afraid he’d scare Neda and Ramus off? Since when had he been afraid of that?

He pushed the thoughts from his mind.

Mordecai pulled himself upright and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “Who is it?”

“Ramus,” sounded Ramus’ voice - sharp, pointed.

Mordecai puffed out a breath and tugged the cuffs of his sleeves over his thin wrists, smoothing out the shimmering fabric. He took a few steps to the door and pulled it open, gesturing the wizard to enter.

“Come on in.”

Ramus slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The wizard’s eyes seemed a little hollow and sunken in his aged face, Mordecai noted. There was a definite downward slope to the man’s posture, and he seemed troubled. With a casual grace, Mordecai walked back to one of the two beds in the room and sat down, motioning Ramus to sit down on the bed opposite. 

The wizard followed without ado, without pomp. Fairly unusual to the extravagant man. He simply plopped down on the bed, several feet from Mordecai. 

Without even thinking about it, Mordecai arranged himself to mirror Ramus’s pose - leaning forward, elbows on knees, fingertips touching. He tilted his head curiously. Maybe Ramus wasn’t here to request his services after all - this was the look of a man who needed to lighten their heart a little. “What can I do for you?”

Ramus shifted slightly, his downcast eyes finally rising to meet Mordecai’s.

“You wanted to know what I was, didn't you? It's not something to... talk about in public. It’s personal,” Ramus began, then paused. He seemed to focus on observing Mordecai’s face, if just for a moment. “It requires trust. Can I trust you, Mordecai?"

The question made Mordecai reel slightly. What was he to say to Ramus? ‘Don’t trust me, nothing but failure follows’? ‘Do I look like a trustworthy person to you’? The thought made him want to laugh out loud, but he bit it back. 

Ramus’ blue eyes showed no trust, that much was clear. Mordecai found himself shaking his head slightly. “Ramus… We have been companions for not even a month. And we spent time apart for most of it. I don't think-"

"Do you want to know what I am or not?" Ramus intercepted 

Curiosity had always been a weakness of Mordecai’s. He admitted this to himself. Something about needing to understand those around him was a driving force, always had been. It had come in handy in serving his clients for years, and there was a certain thrill to understanding peoples’ deepest, unvoiced desires - and then promptly using them for a higher gain.

"I could just show you, but I will need something from you. A sign of this trust, if you will. It will all make sense soon enough."

Mordecai leaned back ever so slightly, breaking his mirroring posture. Whatever this man was about to request was something he could handle, and he could sense that there was much to be gained, here. “Alright,” Mordecai relented. “What do you want?”

"Let me look into your mind. Share something about yourself,” Ramus implored, his gaze locked into Mordecai’s. ”You are such a mystery. Let me lift the veil, even for something as simple as thoughts, things you did before, people you've met. Anything at all."

Frustration bubbled up. Not this again. "Ramus, you can just ask me anything you want. I-"

Ramus was quick to speak up again. “I will never learn as much from a man’s word as I would from a man’s mind. The mind never lies. I promise I will not dig around your past, I will see only what you allow me to see.”

Mordecai racked his brain. He believed he knew the spell the wizard was talking about. Onorim had used this spell extensively in his work as a battlemage, later as interrogator, and had explained that in order to hide something from this spell, one had to flood their mind with chosen thoughts, consistently. He would have to focus on the mundane, of the here and now. No other thoughts. 

“You can skewer me with that pretty rapier of yours if you feel like I have invaded your privacy. Besides, it's just so much more... intimate," Ramus finished, the last word almost tumbling out of his mouth. Almost as if he was embarrassed by the mention of intimacy. 

Another piece of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Mordecai narrowed his eyes. Ramus stayed still, watching him. He was being as honest as he could within the confines of the word “honest”, no doubt. Well, Mordecai had been playing this game for a long time, and he was very good at it.

“Fine. Do it.”

A smile slowly dawned on the older man’s face, and he gestured Mordecai to move over to the bed Ramus was sitting on. Mordecai complied, smoothing down his pants as he did. He caught the quickest flicker of Ramus’ eyes across the shimmering cloth of his shirt, hugging his bony shoulders, but surprisingly well defined arms.

Ramus raised his hands to either side of Mordecai’s head, gently pressing his index fingers to the aasimar’s temples, his thumbs splayed out to his forehead.

Focus on today’s events, Mordecai told himself. He vividly imagined the pouch he’d found on the hag, brought back the taste of beer in his mouth, the cadence of the song played on the bagpipes. Ramus began whispering quiet, calming words to relax Mordecai, but he partially tuned them out. 

“Let’s see..”

There was a pulse of warmth from Ramus’ hands that spread rapidly across Mordecai’s scalp. Soothing, pleasantly warm. Like sunshine filtered through leaves in an orchard. 

Worry and distrust gnawed at the back of his mind, the feeling of discomfort, like a pebble digging into your back through the picnic blanket. No matter how many times he rearranged the blanket or checked the ground underneath, the pebble was always there. The suspicion, inability to trust those around him. 

He’d learned that survival tactic a long time ago.

Thoughts of the dance, earlier that night. How the rhythm had made him tap his foot against the creaky floorboards and finally give in to the temptation, despite years of not dancing. How he’d intentionally mirror-danced with Ramus. Simple thoughts of being impressed with Neda and Ramus, and considering them a capable group together. Curiosity. Who were these people? Amusing, at any rate. Better than his fellow acolytes. Full of life.

Thoughts of the hag. Thoughts of the pouch.. The witch… the victory. His need to bring the pouch back, as instructed. Who had instructed him? His supervisor, Dakestra, dressed in altogether too many layers of robes. Rich cloth draped over the overweight man’s form, weighing him down further. 

Ramus’ touch shifted on his scalp, then withdrew. “Mordecai. Open your eyes."

The pleasant warmth along his scalp was slow to fade. He was surprised to find himself almost reluctant to open his eyes. Maybe he was more tired than he gave himself credit for.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Ramus lean back ever so slightly. 

"This... is what I am."

Ramus’ form began rippling. Parts of him seemed to fold in on themselves as he became shorter, and other parts expanded, hair darkened and withdrew from the top, the face rounded off and the beard disappeared - to a striking, perfect copy of Dakestra. Dakestra, who was wearing a very un-Dakestra-like smile on his face.

Involuntarily, Mordecai jerked back. He was staring in open-eyed awe, but he didn’t care.

A changeling? part of Mordecai’s mind whispered.

Ramus-turned-Dakestra stood up, and before he opened the door, he called over his shoulder. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me Mordecai. It means more than you know."

With that, the older man slipped out of the door, leaving the flabbergasted Mordecai alone.


End file.
